


don't you see the starlight, starlight (don't you dream impossible things)

by scatteredmoonlight



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Telepathy, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23668795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteredmoonlight/pseuds/scatteredmoonlight
Summary: While collecting data for a brief away mission on an alien planet, Jim and Spock are hit by a pollen from a strange flower that makes them want to fuck each other senseless. And they do. And then they form a spontaneous t'hy'la bond that Jim doesn't sense and Spock desperately tries to keep secret.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 15
Kudos: 86





	don't you see the starlight, starlight (don't you dream impossible things)

**Author's Note:**

> He said, "Look at you, worrying so much about things you can't change  
You'll spend your whole life singing the blues  
If you keep thinking that way"  
He was tryna to skip rocks on the ocean saying to me,  
"Don't you see the starlight, starlight  
Don't you dream impossible things"
> 
> Starlight by Taylor Swift ♥

Thick clouds bloomed across the cerulean skies of Poseidon XI, an M-class planet in which Jim, Spock, and a small away team investigated on foot after the probe came back to the Enterprise with the all clear. The away team had beamed directly back to the ship after collecting their data, but McCoy had given both Jim and Spock the stink eye before the away team flew down with the shuttle. His message had been clear: _Enjoy time down on that blue planet, or I’ll _make you _enjoy time on that blue planet. _

And Jim was enjoying his time. Space exploration remained a top passion in his life. 

Jim’s rapt attention was honed on his own tricorder readings, yet his gaze kept skittering over to linger at the small of Spock’s back. Spock’s sciences blue rode up to reveal his black undershirt as he bent over to examine rock samples. 

The other night, they played chess after alpha shift in Jim’s quarters, drinking a tea Spock introduced to him and McCoy was pleased to learn that it had become part of Jim’s replicator chip. Afterward, they fell into a comfortable silence as they wrote reports to send to Starfleet Command, speaking only to request an extra pair of eyes to edit. It was the perfect date — everything Jim had fantasized about back in the Academy. A quiet chess game with an enthralling individual, a study session surrounded by books to see that enigmatic brain work under a structured environment after a creative pursuit. Perhaps with a little footsy, which, of course, he didn’t do with Spock. But there might have been a touch to the elbow as he welcomed Spock into his quarters, a brush over his shoulder before setting their teas down on the table, a whisper of fingertips as they reset the chessboard. 

Spock was worse than a young, attractive woman as a yeoman — a multitude _more_ reasons prevented them from happening. 

They were Captain and First Officer, not to mention the blatant obvious that it’d taken some finalging for Spock to come around and see them as friends and not just a strictly professional relationship. Only a ship-wide infection from a crimson alien liquid could force Spock beyond his logical limits and accept that he felt the shameful desire of friendship for Jim. Probably the mere experience of anything more than that would just break the man to pieces as his brain scrambled to analyze the implications. 

Feeling a headache coming on, Jim rubbed his brow and forced himself to turn away from his vantage point. 

“Mr. Spock, I’ll gather samples from the forest,” said Jim, switching off his tricorder from gathering data on precipitation in the atmosphere. Bark from the forest’s trees with their red trunks might prove titillating to the science department abroad the Enterprise. 

Spock didn’t look away from his tricorder. “Yes, Captain.” 

Jim spared one last glance at him before stepping into the forest. 

The tricorder’s lights blinked in a slow rhythmic pattern as he stepped over fallen brambles and unevening footing. Flashes of mineral names sped along the reader; some were familiar, like quartz, pyroxenes, amphiboles, olivine, calcite, dolomite, but others weren’t found on Earth or were highly unique and rarely seen. His Vulcan First Officer would have a field day — if, of course, Vulcans were capable of having a field day. Jim imagined the conversation. “Anything exciting in the readings, Mr. Spock?” he’d say. And Spock would reply, “Vulcans do not get ‘excited,’ Captain.” To which, Jim would rebuke, “Fascinating, then.” And Spock would regard him with a stoic stare, not even an eyebrow twitching, before connecting their tricorders to share data. But Jim knew that the data excited him. He knew. 

His boot crunched down on sticks, and he briefly paused to look down, the noise jarring him from his thoughts. It wasn’t a stick at all, but a golden rock broken into several pieces: gypsum, the tricorder read out, and some other substance it was still processing. After gleaming all information out of the rock, Jim walked on. Thicker branches hung low up ahead. He brushed them aside to reveal a clearing. 

Insects buzzed as they flew out of bright, intricate flowers. The moniker of prettiest belonged to the flower with long, narrow violet petals overlaid by wisps of lavender angel hairs and white, spotted rings which circled the pollening center, appendages that resembled golden mushrooms blooming from the middle. Jim smiled at the sight and leaned in to smell it. The flower smelt like nothing. Disappointed, Jim left it alone to instead gather tricorder readings. 

He couldn’t have been there for longer than thirty seconds before the petals started quivering, the yellow mushrooms curling inward before blooming out into five new flowers. It was stunning, otherworldly — then it burst with a fine, white pollen that flooded Jim’s face. 

Jim fought against breathing it in, but it was no use. The power was in his hair, his eyelashes, dusting his cheeks, lips, and clothes. He couldn't hold his breath forever, nor stop it from getting in his eyes. He waited for the effects to kick in — vomiting blood, passing out, sudden death. 

Then there was a warmth in him, starting from his neck, then it seeped into his bones and flooded him all over until he felt a familiar twist in his belly and a heat in his cock. He furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding the arousal. His heartbeat quickened — from the sudden heat, from the confusion, from the dawning realization that this arousal and the powder were connected. Fear trickled down his spine, but soon that fear was swallowed up by a lust so deep and unbridled. 

Jim collapsed to his knees, suddenly weakened by desire and a dizziness, and flipped onto his stomach, closing his eyes against the dirt, and scrambled until his groin laid over a thick stick. Closing his eyes, he slowed his movements until his groin rutted against the stick — and he liked it, he needed it, to rub his cock against the stick, his cock growing harder and warmer that more he writhed. Jagged rocks cut through his gold command uniform and tore it from his neck down to his chest, the sleeve severed from his shoulder and slipping down his arm. The pervasive humidity from the planet’s high precipitation swarmed his bare skin. He sucked in the earthy scent of the ground, coughing against the finer particles of dirt. As every impulse in Jim screamed at him to stop, his need to rut increased. He needed this, he needed this more than he needed air. 

Every touch, every bit of friction and answer of pleasure only made his pants tighten, his cock ache more, his skin flush and breath come out in a hitched pant. That flower had done something to him — and this helped as much as it hurt, but Jim couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. 

But a stick wasn’t enough. He needed the warmth of another person; instinctually, he knew only a kiss, a touch, a solid fucking could be the only answer to his plight. 

A hand gripped his arm, and Jim was hoisted to a stand on his shaking legs. 

The loss of friction was agony — a wave of pleasure buzzed through him, his skin flushed, he bit his lip, eyes closing. His hips jerked up to meet vacant air. 

“Captain?” intoned a deep baritone. 

_Spock. Spock — it’s Spock — _

His cock stirred to new life at the sound of his First Officer’s voice — he yearned at the sight of those dark eyes on him with an intent. 

His hair, in a perfect line across his forehead, accentuated the steep lines of his eyebrows. The humidity on the planet merely forced Spock’s sweat-soaked skin to cling tighter to his science blues, every lean muscle apparent and obvious beneath his clothes. Jim licked his lips, gaze roaming, his boxers clinging to his cock as come pearled. Part of him wondered, _What is happening to me? _And other parts of him noted the many regulations he broke by merely _thinking_ about a member of his crew, but then whatever that powder had done to him discarded those thoughts to instead reminiscence over the fond memories of wrestling with Spock in the gym, having his back slammed into the mat as Spock gripped him all over his body, gasping into his neck as he declared victory. 

Being around Spock, it was like his body took on new life. He’d been flushed and wanting before, but now he craved and ached. Rutting against Spock wouldn’t suffice. He needed skin to skin contact, he needed kisses and embraces and Spock’s cock inside his mouth. 

Jim backed away from Spock, raising his palms to stop him — but never touching, he couldn’t touch him, because he didn’t trust what he might do if he did. Spock was a member of his crew, he had to protect him from harm, not rub against him. “Spock,” he said, strangled from a moan deep in his throat. _Come closer, I need you, in my mouth, on my bed._ “Mr. Spock.” 

Spock crept toward him, sympathy in his dark eyes. “Captain — Jim.” _Jim. _It fell like honey from his lips. Jim’s cock twitched and belly ached with desire. “It’s all right.” He laid a hand on Jim’s elbow, the lightest of touches, and Jim leaned into him — close enough to embrace but not daring to wrap arms around him in a hug — if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop, couldn’t prevent himself from rutting against his thigh, which he knew from wrestling was hard with lean, long muscle. Soft skin and rough with dark hair — 

Spock wasn’t stopping. He’d walk into Jim’s hard cock, so Jim sprung away to evade him — only out the corner of his eye, he saw those yellow mushrooms curling before blooming out into individual flowers. _No! Spock!_

The pollen bloomed, a white cloud hitting Spock in the face. He stopped dead in his tracks and sucked in a sharp breath, eyebrow arching as his gaze unfocused. 

His breaths were erratic, cheeks flushing green — he stumbled back, then raised his hands and steepled them in front of his face, closing his eyes and murmuring lowly in Vulcan. Meditation — Spock was falling into meditation while the flower’s poison wrecked havoc to his arousal. Jim swallowed past a moan of desire, wondering what Spock was thinking, wishing like he always did for a crack beneath that stoic Vulcan exterior to glimpse even an inkling of Spock’s thoughts. It made no sense. By this point, Jim had been writhing on the ground and rubbing himself off against damned sticks, yet Spock remained cool and collected in the warm embrace of logic. And Jim was right there, his cock aching against the confines of his pants, his body hot and willing and open for Spock’s taking. Spock had it easier than Jim had — he wasn’t alone, he had a friend, someone to trust, someone to fuck. Jim didn’t understand, his mind couldn’t fathom the logic, it seemed so irrational to avoid coming together. To hide away in meditation when they could instead be fucking. 

_Fucking! Fucking my First Officer! _Jim slapped himself in the face, the sting rattling him, but it was no use. Once he overcame the shock of his self-inflicted assault, he was back to examining Spock — only to discover that he’d stopped meditating to observe Jim with an impassive stare. 

Jim wanted to suck green splotches on Spock’s throat and make him regret not pouncing on each other the second that flower pollinated. Instead, he bit out, “You must be a computer. How can you meditate at a time like this? How?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. 

Jim stepped forward, one hand fisting at his side while the other unconsciously slid over the exposed skin from his ripped shirt, tracing along his arm and neck until grasping at his hair and scrubbing it into a mess. “Don’t tell me Vulcans can only get it up once every seven years.” 

That captured his attention — Spock turned to him, stepping forward at a languid pace, stalking toward Jim like prey. Jim was so aroused, he didn’t even bother stepping back. That would only create distance between them when he wanted anything but. Spock stopped until they were close enough to breath the same air — Jim felt the heat radiating off of Spock, smelled the tantalizing mixture of sweat and the incense infused into his clothing. He rocked a little on his heels, and Spock steadied him by gripping his shoulder. Jim held his breath, gazing into those brown eyes darkened by blown pupils. 

“I assure you, Captain,” he said, voice low and gravelly, and the way he pronounced Captain sounded so obscene, not even close to a high ranking officer’s title. “Vulcans can ‘get it up’ whenever they want to.” 

Jim’s knees gave out, and he stumbled into Spock, the fabric of his science blues rubbing against his exposed nipples. Heartbeats were drumming against the flutters in his stomach. Spock ached to touch him, _needed him_, as much as Jim felt for him in that moment. He pounced on Spock — kissing him deeply. Sloppily, he traced his tongue along Spock’s lips in askance before he shoved his tongue in Spock’s mouth and drank in the resulting moans. Spock clutched his shoulders — held the bare skin of the shoulder ridden of his ripped shirt — and drew him impossibly closer. Their legs tangled together as they stood, Spock’s cock hard and hot and erect against Jim’s thigh, as was his own against Spock. Jim dug fingers in Spock’s hair and vowed to mess it up beyond repair. He would have rutted against Spock, except Spock rutted against him first, and the resulting movement was getting both of them off all at once. 

But he needed to get _closer_. He needed _more_ of Spock, more than this. He needed skin and come and bare cocks and moans drowning out moans. He stepped into Spock, thinking that might achieve this, only Spock inevitably took a step back to prevent them from falling backward. Spock pulled away — but Jim wouldn’t let him. He clutched his hair, pulling, and nipped his lip, caught between his teeth as Spock stepped away and tried to create some distance. 

“Jim,” he groaned, “it’s illogical to remain here. The flower is no doubt further affecting us.” 

“I don’t care about the damn flower.” 

“I do.” 

With his superior Vulcan strength, Spock tore away. Jim reached out to touch him, bereft, but Spock stumbled away on uncharacteristically clumsy feet, but not without capturing their discarded tricorders. 

“Spock, don’t—” 

Spock left the clearing in the only way to enter. 

Stunned, and feeling slightly rejected, demanding an answer, Jim raced after him. 

* 

Jim followed Spock to the shuttle craft, and when he finally got inside, Spock had just sat down at the helm. Jim’s cock ached horrendously from lack of attention, and he’d be damned if they flew back to the Enterprise in such a condition. He stood at Spock’s side and towered over him, slamming down every button that Spock turned up. 

“Don’t even try it, Commander.” 

“It is illogical to remain on this planet while we are both obviously ill.” 

“You know damn well there’s nothing the Enterprise can do.” 

“I do not know that, as we haven’t tried.” 

“Get out of that seat.” 

“I will not.” 

“I said get out of that seat.” 

Spock’s fingertips rested over a button, and preemptively, Jim laid his hand over his wrist to stop him from pressing it. Then all at once, Spock kicked his legs out from the helm station and rose to a stand. Jim stepped back to allow him room. 

Spock barely had at height on him, yet he used all of it to tower over him as Jim had only just done to him. 

He tilted his head. “Will you order me, Captain?” 

“Don’t make me…” 

“_Will_ you, Captain?” Then Spock buried his face into Jim’s neck, breathing so deeply that Jim could hear it. “My controls… are waning, Jim.” 

Jim rocked against him, rubbing his pained cock against his thigh. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. “You want to touch me.” 

Spock kissed along his neck and jaw before licking his earlobe. “Yes,” he said, the whispers spoken directly into his ear and sending a shiver all throughout him. Jim buzzed with warmth. He bit his lip and pressed his cock hard against Spock — but it wasn’t enough. 

“You — you want me to touch you.” 

Spock wrapped arms around Jim and held him close. “_Yes._” 

Jim grabbed the hair at the back of Spock’s head and pulled him away from his ear, maneuvering him into a kissable position. They crashed into each other — clutching and kissing and licking and suckling. Spock walked into him, directing him away from the helm and further into the body of the shuttlecraft. He pulled at the gold command uniform, but it was in such an already fragile state that he simply achieved to rip it further off of him. Jim kissed his lips, murmuring, “I don’t care. Do as you see fit, Mr. Spock.” And that was the last he’d ever see of the shirt, for Spock tore it to pieces off of him. They momentarily paused in kissing to tear off their boots, Jim hopping a little while Spock held himself upright in perfect balance. He’d barely gotten his second boot off before Spock grappled for the waist of his pants and tugged them off. 

His cock sang from the freedom — now away from his waist and reaching for Spock — but it was entirely unfair. Spock still wore his entire uniform while managing to get Jim almost entirely naked. A devilish thought wondered what pon farr must be like, would Spock be even more lethal in his efforts to get Jim naked? 

Jim started on Spock’s pants while Spock slipped off his science blues and black undershirt. They fumbled with their boxers, kicking them off and not seeing where they landed in the shuttlecraft. 

Spock leaned in for a kiss, but Jim, suddenly mustering up self-restraint from the drudges of his tormented psyche, set a hand on his chest to stop him. Jim looked him over — from the tips of his pointed ears to the curve of his neck, his chiseled pectorals and flat stomach, then caught sight of the tortured tip of a green-blooded cock, reaching out to him. An erect, green-blooded cock, lonely and aching and _needing_ Jim’s lips to lick away the come off the tip. He yearned to touch it, but then Spock brushed aside his hand and closed the space between them. 

They kissed slower this time. Between the two of them, at the very least, Jim was distracted by their bare cocks touching naked skin. Jim traced the flush swell of Spock’s bottom lip before licking his tongue. They settled into an easy rhythm, cocks rubbing against thighs, lazily kissing, Jim holding him close as Spock cradled the back of his head with one hand while laying his fingers across Jim’s face with the other hand, which, if he recalled correctly, were his psi points for a mind meld. A slow drum of pleasure coursed through Jim, his thoughts swimming in curiosity. _My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts. Say it, Spock. Say it. _But they kept kissing. He could’ve stayed like that forever, but it wasn’t enough, he needed more of Spock. He felt a wetness against his thigh and groaned. His hands fell down to squeeze Spock’s ass. He fantasized about bending Spock over and burrowing deep inside him, feeling his heat surround him on all sides. 

“I want,” mumbled Jim between kisses. “I want to be inside you, Spock. Don’t you want that?” 

Spock kissed him, shoving his tongue in Jim’s mouth. They fell into a mind numbing rhythm. He broke away and pressed his forehead against Jim’s. “Yes.” 

“Wait a minute, we need… some kind of lubrication, or else I’ll hurt you—” 

Spock silenced Jim by kissing his throat, palm steady on his windpipe to keep him still. Jim froze, the warmth from Spock’s hand bleeding into him, and the bob of his throat knocked against Spock’s lips as he swallowed. “Captain,” murmured Spock, “I am Vulcan.” 

Jim’s cock twitched. “My — my apologies, Mr. Spock. I wasn’t thinking.” 

_I am Vulcan, I am Vulcan, I am Vulcan_, echoed in his thoughts, and were soon forcibly discarded in order to contemplate the acute logistics of such a claim. Lubricant need not be a necessity — he licked his lips, needing to come a little closer in order to grasp more of Spock’s ass and work his way to the valley between his buttocks. Jim closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on Spock’s shoulder, kissing him softly, and then fondled his anus with one finger. Spock was slick, his finger sliding it easily, and Kirk kissed his shoulder over and over, slipping in two more fingers. 

Spock stepped out of the hold and grabbed Jim’s wet hand, tugging him to one of the chairs. He bent himself over the backing of one, settling Jim’s slick hand on his thigh, and Jim didn’t need to be told twice. He held the base of his cock and positioned it over Spock’s anus. He slowly pushed himself in, not wanting to strain Spock or hurt him, but then Spock rocked against him, pushing him in farther, faster, and soon Spock’s heat was all he knew. 

Whether it was the pollen or the novelty — Jim didn’t know which, he also didn’t care, but he was gripping Spock’s hip in one hand and the chair in the other, pounding into him. Their thighs slapped together at each thrust. He squeezed his eyes and fought to relax his jaw as Spock’s tight ass engulfed him. Spock’s moans broke apart at each thrust, each more sudden and forceful than the last. 

Jim was fucking Spock — his First Officer — on Starfleet property. It was obscene — it was wrong — it warranted at the very least a court martial — and Jim — 

Jim was coming. 

He couldn’t have been in Spock for more than a minute, but he was coming like it was his first time in the back of his father’s hover car in the woods behind the park he used to go to kiss necks with the girl in his tenth grade advanced placement biology class. No, Jim swore he lasted longer back then. 

He tried to slow down, focus on something else, but his mind was saturated with lust, need, desire, and the second he waned in pace, Spock was thrusting into him, his moans loud, impossible to ignore — and then the orgasm swallowed Jim up. 

He threw his head back, mind spinning as his thoughts melted into nothing. He couldn’t hear Spock’s groans through the drowning thunder of white noise buzzing in his ears. His toes curled, lungs constricted as it grew harder to breath, each gasp more desperate than the last. He never remembered sex being this good, but granted it’d been more than quite the while. He came with a hiss, muttering out a curse because even as he came hard, he was still as impossibly aroused as he had been in the forest. It’d be agony waiting for his cock to get hard again and not so sensitive that Spock could touch him. 

When he slipped out, he stumbled back, falling to his knees. He gazed down, vision focused on nothing, then Spock turned around and tilted his head up with a gentle hand to his chin. He wanted to look him in the eye, but his raking gaze stopped short at the sight of the cock right next to his face. 

He collapsed against Spock’s thigh, mouthing the soft skin and strong muscle, and struggled to keep balance and draw himself up. He kissed Spock’s testicles and licked the base of his cock, grappling for a hold on his thighs and gaining the strength to balance himself well enough to reach the tip of Spock’s cock and take him fully into his mouth. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself in the soft, vulnerable skin of Spock’s cock, in the little come that came out soon after Jim first took Spock into his mouth. That adrenaline pumping moment of seeing how deep he could take Spock in before he gagged. He couldn’t focus on much of anything, his cock still flushed from orgasm and his mind reeling from it. He was a Starfleet graduate, former professor, captain of the greatest starship the universe had ever seen — but he could barely focus on anything that wasn’t Spock’s cock. He suckled on the tip, swirling his tongue beneath the edges of the glans, and parted from him only to catch his breath. Spock’s cock nudged his lips. 

Fingers carded through his hair, and Jim glanced up, a smile whisking up the corners of his mouth as he met Spock’s intense stare. Spock’s hand left his hair and fitted over his psi points. Jim closed his eyes and hummed as he suckled on Spock’s cock only to deepthroat him after taking a breath. Spock’s fingers never broke position, and he heard, muttered low, but with certainty, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts…” 

_Want. Need. Desire. Agony. _

All of it Jim felt intimately — but these weren’t _his _thoughts, and the manifestation of these emotions were nothing like his own. Tangled up in the want was guilt — oh, such a guilt, for admitting an emotion, for discarding rationality to savor it, for surrendering to the illogical. The need, Jim couldn’t fathom; it felt ancient, ignored, yet thriving in the moment, a discarding sensation dusted off and admired for once in its life. But he couldn’t contemplate it for too long because the desire overwhelmed everything in a tumultuous wave of passionate arousal that tore Jim apart. No wonder Spock had been meditating — this wasn’t even pon farr, but he felt a trickle of fear that wasn’t his own over the potentiality this pollen had raised in making this emotion change into pon farr. 

And, finally, an agony. Because if Spock didn’t fuck Jim, if he didn’t come, he might die — an agony driven by experience of plak tow, the blood fever, a loss of a control so horrifying that denying himself sex with Jim had stretched the bounds of his rationality, yet his desires and this agony had overcome him until he couldn’t deny the necessity of this moment. 

_Spock._ He took his cock as deep as his mouth allowed him, as if that would draw Spock’s mind to him. 

_Jim. Jim._

Spock spoke to him telepathically, and that was so wickedly awesome that if Jim’s cock could allow him to come again right now, he would have. He wondered how intense these mind melds could get — it wasn’t his first meld, of course, but this one marked a certain intimacy unrivaled by his previous experiences. He urged at the contours of Spock’s mind with an instinct he didn’t know he had. Humans were psi null, he had little clue about how to navigate these things, but then Spock’s essence embraced his — and they were diving into each other’s minds. 

He saw Vulcan through Spocks’ perspective — the clouds of ochre blooming from rocky hikes, the satisfaction of perfect marks that his peers largely failed, a villa fraganted by the intermixed scents of his grandfather’s and his mother’s cooking. And Spock saw the Iowa that Jim knew. Granted, the centuries were slow to catch up on the place even after all of history, but Jim liked the quiet, the rustic vibe, the cheesy high school traditions that had consumed his life before he left for Starfleet and outer space. He even missed the snow. And the corn, too. 

These aspects were not mysterious to them. Chess matches often included a trade of stories about childhood and the Academy, their first voyages into space, little experiences not worth telling but treasured morsels of insight into each other. Yet to _experience_ it as Spock had was unrivaled in its intimacy. 

A white burst of light filled up all the corners in Jim’s mind. They’d been melding this whole time, yet suddenly Jim realized that prior to this light, he had been alone, so, so alone, and yet now not only he wasn’t, but his heartbeat was becoming one with Spock’s. 

A line formed in Spock’s cock as come prepared to flow out of him, and Jim pulled out far enough so that only Spock’s tip remained in his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the frenulum, drawing out little moans from Spock. Through the mind meld, he felt the pleasure built up in Spock. The orgasm rocked through them both. Jim’s chest swelled as he fought for a deep breath, as if it were his own orgasm that short circuited his brain and hijacked his body’s ability to function — but the bursts of come in his mouth quickly smarted him. 

He swallowed down most of it, but some smeared across his chin. He took Spock deep to clean him off, but then Spock ended the mind meld and released his hold on Jim’s face, cock too sensitive for more. Jim turned his cheek and rubbed his fingers along the come on his face, licking it off. He glanced up at Spock and found him watching. Jim smirked as he sucked on a fingertip. Spock rubbed a thumb along his lip, pressing it into Jim’s mouth, and Jim abandoned his own fingers to kiss Spock’s thumb. 

Jim nuzzled Spock’s wrist, gazing up demurely. 

Spock beckoned him to stand. His heat burned Jim all along his body wherever they touched. Jim settled a hand on Spock’s arm to steady himself. For a breath, they simply gazed at another. Spock traced his fingers over Jim’s psi points. 

“Ready for another round, Commander?” 

Spock closed his eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose against Jim’s. Over his lips, he whispered, “_Ashayam, taluhk nash-veh k’dular. T’hy’la._” 

Jim was hard in a nanosecond, not understanding a single word that Spock said even if his cock found meaning in it. 

A hand brushed his thigh and traced soft, teasing lines along the length of his cock. “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts...” 

And then they were again beating as one rhythm. 

* 

Jim’s foot kept twitching, knocking into Spock’s ankle as they laid tangled together in blissed out nothingness. Still aroused, though not as much as before, he was satisfied to merely lay with his head on Spock’s chest and listen to him breathe. 

Dimly, he contemplated the report to Starfleet. The Enterprise couldn’t leave orbit without Starfleet being notified about the pollen, but there would be heavy redactions, which must extend past official correspondences and to his day-to-day reality aboard the bridge. 

Now he’d simply enjoy this while it lasted, savor the lovesick laziness he felt entangled in Spock’s embrace. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, memorizing Spock’s scent, and fell asleep. 

* 

Jim woke up to the movement of Spock shifting beneath him. He blinked groggily and instinctively rolled onto his back to allow Spock ease to move. 

Reality caught up to Jim, hard. 

The events that had transpired over the past few hours played over and over in his head as if part of a recurrent nightmare — desiring his First Officer, kissing him, fucking him against a chair, taking his cock deeper into his mouth than should be possible. Of course, in the past, he’d entertained a brush of shoulders as they walked, a whisper of fingers touching as they exchanged PADDs. He couldn’t deny a certain affection for his First Officer — he was the closest friend he’d ever had, but something set him apart from his other good companions like Bones. An enigma that Jim was addicted to cracking, yet vowing to never completely solve, Spock stole his every thought on a slow day on the bridge, during a slow chess match where nothing happened except for the enthralling look of deep concentration of Spock’s sharp features. 

He’d seen Spock naked — touched him, acted upon desires he didn’t allow himself to contemplate. He coaxed Spock to climax, felt those very same orgasms which did not belong to him course through his entire being as they mind melded. They’d cuddled afterward. Spock drew lazy lines over Jim’s shoulder as he rested against him. It was intimate, cozy, sweet. They’d fallen asleep. 

Jim didn’t know what to make of it. He tended to avoid casual dating and one night stands in the Academy because his heart always grew too attached. Emotions were a beast of their own, but the removal of clothing, the submission to pure sensuality, trusting another to read his reactions and guide him to pleasure — the vulnerability that surrounded these moments always altered Jim’s perception of a person. He might of found a woman interesting before sex, but afterward, he needed to see her, hear her voice, know her thoughts, hold her hand. He’d never entertained even the barest hint of fantasy with Spock. Even the imagination could conjure this attachment in him, and that couldn’t happen aboard the Enterprise. He couldn’t have a relationship with a crewmember, and Spock was one of the only two people aboard the Enterprise he could truly rely on as a friend. Those kinds of thoughts would only sully the one good thing in his life. 

Spock moved about the shuttle craft silently, gathering his clothes, and Jim followed suit. They didn’t speak, and at the sight of Jim’s golden shirt torn to pieces, Spock wordlessly offered his black undershirt. Jim avoided getting too close, a hollow pit in his belly at the thought of getting near. Because he still wanted to — before it’d been an irrational, feverish desperation, but now Jim wanted to dote on him, make him feel appreciated after baring himself. It was Jim’s curse, that of a hopeless romantic. Spock folded the shirt over a chair, and Jim waited until he’d left to retrieve it. 

What was the Vulcan thinking? Jim had been very forward on that planet. They both had, but Jim coaxed him out of meditation and forced him to confront the arousal. A chill overcame Jim. 

He ought to address this — as Captain of the Enterprise, he needed to rectify the manner, even if all he had were words. 

He waited until they’d put on all their clothes to speak, watching as Spock pulled at the hem of his science blues to straight it. 

“I…” he started, and promptly shut up. 

Spock shifted to look at him, eyebrow quirked. “Captain?” 

Jim startled at the sound of his voice. At the memory of his title uttered in a deep, husky baritone into his ear before Spock nipped his neck and kissed the pain away. His stomach pinched, cheeks heating up — feeling vulnerable, emotionally naked despite his thoughts being locked away in his head for only him to know. He’d wanted Spock, and he’d had him. But it was wrong. It was so, so wrong. 

Jim tried again, remembering his place. There was Jim Kirk, and there was Captain James T. Kirk. Only one was welcome right now. “I wish to apologize for my actions earlier. It was a violation of your trust and rights. You deserve better from your Captain.” 

Spock’s countenance softened, and he crossed the shuttle to come close. In a gentle voice, he said, “Apologies are unnecessary. It was the pollen, not you, that acted.” 

“It shouldn’t have gotten the better of me in the first place.” 

“Yet it did. An unknown substance of a purpose we do not comprehend, its potency stronger than our reluctance to succumb to it. To deny the power of this substance is illogical. In any case, I do not accept your apology. Were I to be a victim of such a substance, I am grateful that of all people, it was you on that planet beside me and not another.” 

“You’re… grateful.” 

“Though, I wish to apologize as well.” 

“Apology unaccepted,” he said, heart thrumming. “Of all people, I’m glad it was you, too.” _Spock, you have no idea._

“Indeed, Jim?” 

Those dark eyes, often so stoic and guarded, were twinkling. Jim smiled at the sight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Love to know what you think! Comments are kudos are ♥ :)


End file.
